


shifting perspectives

by DxTURA



Category: Vis a Vis | Locked In (Spain TV)
Genre: One Shot Collection, based on events of season 1 - episode 5, not THAT graphic but i am tagging it for posterity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:28:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25110019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DxTURA/pseuds/DxTURA
Summary: Sometimes, life is about more than what we see with first impressions.Fiverr request from February!
Collections: Urbinazation Works





	1. strength

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone, thanks for reading!!!
> 
> This fic was requested by a buyer on Fiverr. Should they no longer want it up on AO3, they can request me to remove it at any time!  
> I hope you enjoy!

Macarena’s small, steely smile might have said otherwise, but she was happy. _Ecstatic_. Her nerves were shot to shit, Dr. Sandoval was (still) overseeing her, but he at least gave her _good_ news about her baby’s health. The child meditated in its own little zone – away from all the noise, yet still close to its home. She wondered if they were processing all that happened within the last week, too.

Just as she was about to close her eyes, Curly came in. Her best friend. Her partner-in-crime. Her psychic, apparently, since she guessed that her baby was a boy (and was correct at that). She was just as excited to hear that baby was healthy, and had even remarked about him swimming around as if nothing ever happened in the first place.

Curly called him strong. She said that his mother – _she_ – was strong, too. It caught her off guard, and made her mind roam.

To say she was strong was far from the truth. Hell, the first day she got here every single girl ganged up on her and messed with her. If Curly wasn’t there, she would’ve been injured. Maybe even _killed_. She was the light that pierced through the dark that tried to drown her in seconds.

Then again, maybe Curly’s words _did_ have merit to them. Maybe she _was_ strong. She protected her baby, and she’s not dead yet. Despite being in prison every day, she tries to make her days as bright and entertaining as possible. She answers the higher-ups (and generally anyone else) with respect and tact. Some of the other girls that chat with her _do_ treat her with some kindness, and…

Maybe there was more to strength than just muscles and confidence.

Well, she wouldn’t have to worry about that right now. Once Sandoval was finished documenting everything, she decided to finish her chores and head straight to bed after. The fear of her baby dying in the midst of the forest took a huge toll on her, and the days were only going to continue their turbulent and hectic behaviors from here on out. 

Would she be ready for them? Probably not, but she would have to be. Maybe she’d pay a visit to the maternity ward later… or – at least – figure out how to get in there to begin with. She only knew so much about it after all.

And, the more she knew, the safer her child would be, right?


	2. wandering thoughts

Blood. There was blood everywhere.

Blood on her jumpsuit. Blood on her face. Blood in her hair.

Blood on the injured. Blood on the deceased. Blood, blood, blood, blood, _blood_.

There was something to behold seeing Fabio’s miraculous recovery. The fact that Macarena felt Fabio limp in her arms – felt his very blood on her _hands_ – and he’s _still_ here? Working for the prison? For the _government_? She knew it wasn’t a night and day recovery, but it still felt like one for this man. She tried not to think about it for the moment.

No, she had to switch her priorities – particularly to focus on Hanbal’s appearance. The Egyptian. Yes, the _Interpol_ had every right to suspect her of knowledge, but why was The Egyptian there? How did he know where they were going? How did he catch wind that they were looking for the money in the forest?

The prison has eyes and ears, sure. They confiscated (mostly) everything, though. It didn’t make any sense.

Whatever. Why bother thinking about this? It was all too trivial. She shouldn’t worry about the intricacies of that. No, her mind should be focusing on other things.

Like her unborn baby, and – oh, of course – _the fact that she shot Hanbal to begin with_.

Did she shoot to kill or did the gun accidentally go off after all? Every single second replayed in her head, but when it got to _him,_ it just—her thoughts weren’t making any sense. Was he dead? No, he wasn’t. He ran off the moment she fired the gun, and she ran screaming in the opposite direction. She took the gun to defend herself, but she should have known that he would’ve come to collect his dues. The Egyptian is smart.

Thankfully, the duress didn’t affect her baby. Her baby was safe. The officers were sure that the Glock was unloaded, but she couldn’t have taken that chance. For all she knew, Hanbal could’ve found have retrieved ammo from someplace and reloaded to take her out if she didn’t comply.

But shooting Hanbal didn’t mean she got off scott-free. Sure, some of the people who were there to support her were grateful for her courage. Some of them even _thanked_ her for not running away and making their lives harder. Those weren’t the people she was worried about.

The number one person that sent shivers down her spine through this all was Zulema herself.

Had it been any other person, Zulema wouldn’t have cared. She would’ve thrown some snark in all directions, looked down on her, and then exeunt stage left without a care in the world. However, this was _Hanbal_. This was her lover (or, well, “lover”). She was so maddened with love that she even _threatened_ to kill her baby the moment she found out that the two were in the forest around the same time. It spooked her.

She was able to lie, but she couldn’t keep it like this for long. No, she _had_ to go talk to Zulema. She had to tell her the truth.

If she was going to be struck down by Zulema, she might as well do with no regrets.


	3. priorities

"This corner taken? No? Don't care." A red-faced Curly sat against the edge of one of the halls with a tear-stained Saray. Her mascara was running, her eyes were big and puffy, but Curly didn't care. Curly wasn't going to take pity on her right now.

Curly was in her own thoughts - her own vices. Macarena has been the talk of the prison ever since she came in here. She wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt; maybe the girls were just picking on her because she seemed like easy prey. Maybe they didn't care to understand her. She didn't know. She saw a little bit of herself in Maca, she guessed. It's why she stuck her neck out in the first place.

And wouldn't you know it? It got her places. Maca was gonna talk to her family and get her a job. She could make money again. She could be on her way out of jail and start her life anew. She had so many different possibilities at her disposal, she had a best friend, but...

But then she found out that "best friend" took everything she offered back. That sliver of freedom was gone.

She had every right to be pissed. She betrayed Maca? No, Maca betrayed her.

"... Can't believe I trusted her." Curly hit the prison cell wall with a fist. "Can't believe I ever trusted that whore."

Saray's sniffles were quiet. Unbothersome. What the fuck happened to her? She took that as acknowledgement and rambled on.

"Babies. Who the fuck needs them?" Curly spit at the ground, "Every whore I've seen that opens their legs gets like this. They act like having a baby makes them a queen. Disgusting."

Curly sat against the wall and hugged her knees close. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, and like clockwork she rubbed them away.

"This is why I'm glad I'm gay. Everyone's disgusted and steps away."

Saray's eyes flickered from Curly, to the floor, then back to her. Curly had her full attention now.

"Babies... really do change how a person acts, huh?" She shook her head, "The world is a lot colder again. It's like I got replaced by someone else. Someone who doesn't even know how feelings fucking work."

"I... never understood the appeal of them either." Saray finally spoke.

"Yeah?"

"I mean, I get it. They can be cute. They're a lot of work and they're loyal, but..." Saray shrugged. "I dunno. They're just-- not for me? People always act like we have to have them. Men, especially."

"Yeah, and then they get mad when we're fucking tired! Stupid!" Curly threw her arms in the air, then folded them to her chest not long after.

"...Saray?"

"Yeah?"

"Sorry. And thanks." She sighed. "Maca is... Maca isn't that great after all. I hope her baby has problems."

Curly herself didn't even know if she meant what she said, but she'd say it anyway. What's Saray gonna do? She'd kick her ass if she tried anything.

"I'm sitting here for awhile."

"Okay. That's fine."

"Zulema isn't with you?"

"We... we aren't talking about her right now."

Oof. Rough times for everyone, she guessed. Whatever. Things would sort themselves out eventually.

For now, Curly had to rewire her thoughts. She's had enough of the lies and empty promises. She couldn't rely on people anymore. Not after everything that's happened.

She didn't know when – nor did she know how – but she knew that if she wanted something done right, she'd have to do it herself.


End file.
